The Perils of Homemade Liquor
by LilyMoon'sAlias
Summary: Another fic written by prompt. Vincent proves that he is a man of his word. Cloud smirked, "It's your turn to wear a dress." Disclaimer: All FFVII characters owned by Square Enix, I make nothing from the stories.


"Are you *trying* to pull my hair out?"

"Of course not! I'm trying to undo thirty years of tangles and neglect." Cloud gave up on the brush and reached for a wide-toothed comb instead. "Damn, Vincent, have you combed it even once since we found you?"

Vincent glared into the mirror at Cloud standing behind him. He felt utterly ridiculous sitting on the stool while his overly amused lover worked on his hair. "You know perfectly well I have. It's just as altered as the rest of my body." Vincent gave an irritated snort. "Appearances aren't that important to me."

"So says the man who once looked like a GQ cover. I've seen pictures, you know, when you wore a Turk's suit."

Vincent twitched and the intensity of his glare increased. "Leave the past where it belongs, Cloud," he warned softly. "We agreed that we both wouldn't go there anymore."

"I just...sorry." Cloud pressed his lips together into a thin line and continued working, his hands more gentle. After a minute or two he spoke again to ease the tension. "It's just that you have really great hair. You should take better care of it."

Vincent started to say something sarcastic about Cloud's own gravity defying hair but changed tactics instead. His lips curved into a slight smirk. "You like it that much?"

Cloud met Vincent's eyes in the mirror. Memories of many nights when his lover's thick, dark hair trailed over his face and body sent a tingle through him, and his pants tightened. "Yeah," he said quietly, voice deeper with desire.

They didn't say anything else until Cloud finished and Vincent's hair lay smooth and flowed over his shoulders and around his face. Cloud stroked his fingers through it and leaned closer to breathe in the scent of Vincent's shampoo. Vincent closed his eyes and thought about how he'd rather toss Cloud on the bed than go through with this charade, but...he was a man of his word. The whole thing just underscored why it was a bad idea to agree to any bets while under the influence of Tifa's special home brew. The stuff was lethal, even to someone as altered as himself.

"I still can't believe you lost," Cloud murmured against Vincent's temple.

Vincent huffed in annoyance and ruffled pride over his skill. "I would have easily won if Reno hadn't interfered. Rufus isn't *that* good a marksman."

"What did he do?" Cloud asked curiously. He hadn't actually been present for the match, being away on another delivery.

Vincent hesitated before answering and actually seemed embarrassed. "Before he reloaded the skeet he asked me if you thought the claws were kinky."

Cloud covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. "I'm surprised you didn't at least give him a flesh wound."

"The thought was there."

Cloud broke and snickered. "Well, it's time for you to get ready."

Vincent raised his claws and his red eyes promised retribution. "You're enjoying this too much."

Cloud simply smirked. "It's your turn to wear a dress."

Vincent stood and snatched the offending article of clothing from its hanger before stalking into the bathroom. Cloud lounged on the bed and listened to the string of snarled invectives coming through the door. When Vincent emerged his breath caught in a surge of lust. The dress was a deep red that complimented Vincent's black hair and white as milk skin. It had actually been thoughtfully chosen as the cut and style covered any of Vincent's scars, leaving only his throat and smooth, toned shoulders visible. The bodice clung to him then cinched in at the waist to give a hint of more feminine curves.

Cloud raked his lover with a heated, admiring, desiring look. It started with Vincent's fair face and glorious mane of hair and continued all the way to his feet.

Cloud's mouth trembled with the effort of holding in a laugh that could get him injured, or worse, banned from Vincent's bed.

"Vincent, the brass toed shoes have *got* to go." 


End file.
